Like Acid Rain That Burns to the Bone
by sherlockian4evr
Summary: On Ella's advice, Sherlock writes letters to John, letters he never intends him to see. The letters lead to discussions. The discussions lead to changes in their lives.
1. Chapter 1

John,

I'm seeing Ella now. She wants me to write you a letter. She's big on writing, isn't she? Ella said I can burn the letter when I'm done. I don't know if I can do that, not when it's about you.

Here goes.

You looked into my heart and saw the dark things. Everyone sees the dark things. What made you different was you saw something more, something of worth. You made me laugh and feel once again when I had tried so long not to. You made me want to be a better man.

I tried. I tried for you, John, my dearest and best friend. I don't say only friend, because you showed me that there were friends around me I had ignored.

I thought it was enough, then you brought her into our lives. I wanted to hate her. I tried to hate her even before I had reason, but I couldn't. Even after she shot me, I was helpless. She became my friend. Mary understood me in a way you never could and now I fear never will.

Your anger is falling down on me every moment of every day. It's like an acid rain that burns down to my bones. I'm supposed to save you, Mary asked it of me. I don't know that I can when I can't save myself.

Each day passes and my dread grows. What if your anger burns you away from the inside out? What will happen to Rosie? She deserves all of you, not a burnt out husk.

I can't do this anymore... It's too hard to put on paper. I'll try again tomorrow. If there is a tomorrow. I'm sorry, John. I shouldn't put that on you, even in a letter you will never see.

I just... yeah.

-Sherlock


	2. Chapter 2

John,

I miss Rosie. Mycroft would laugh at that, but I don't care what he thinks anymore. She is the most beautiful, perfect, tiny little human being I have ever met. She has a beautiful smile and the way she laughs, all full of bubbly spit, is charming.

I know you are doing your best for her. I know you are. She's the most important person in your life now. Remember that, John. Remember you have a reason to keep going.

Molly sent me some photos earlier today of Rosie. It's the only way I get to see her. I'm sure you would be furious if you knew. If you find out, don't be too angry with Molly. She feels sorry for me and is trying to help the only way she knows how.

I hope to be able to give Rosie my love in person some day. For now, I'll say it here.

Rosie, I love and miss you very much. Your father would probably be shocked that I actually put it into words, so don't tell him.

-Sherlock


	3. Chapter 3

John,

Today is a perfect waste. Life is a perfect waste. If I knew what you were thinking, I'd know what action to take. Are you merely angry with me or do you truly hate me? The answer makes all the difference.

There was a time you would have called me a selfish bastard for even contemplating this action. Do you still feel that way, I wonder, or would you welcome it? If I knew it was the latter...

But I can't risk it, not without knowing. If there is some part of you that still cares, no matter how small, I can't add to your burden of grief.

See, you have taught me something, no matter how little - to think of you. Because of that, I'll live another day for you, just in case it's what you want. From now on, every day I live is for you, you and Rosie.

You'll never read this letter. You'll never know why I continue on. That's fine. You don't need to know.

-Sherlock


	4. Chapter 4

John,

I solved a case for Lestrade today. It was boring without you.

-Sherlock


	5. Chapter 5

John,

Mycroft came by again today. I haven't been given the dubious privilege of his presence so often since my last overdose before you and I met. He says he worries about me, his same old excuse. I suspect he spoke with Lestrade and that's what really prompted his visit.

It makes me tired, John. I don't feel like sparring with him, but if I don't, he'll suspect just how bad things are. He can't know. I refuse to give him reason to take over my life any more than he already has.

Of course, I'm sure he has Ella's notes. Who am I kidding? He knows. That's why I have to put up with his presence on a regular basis.

Perhaps I should leave London. I could slip away without him noticing. He doesn't see everything that happens in this city. I could get away from everything. It's tempting. Or I could disappear among the homeless. I did that once before. There's a wonderful anonymity in it.

The day has been too long. I'll think about it tomorrow.

-Sherlock


	6. Chapter 6

John,

How are you doing? I can't really tell, John. I've hidden across from your flat and watched you come and go. You haven't seen me. Unfortunately, you give very few clues to your true feelings. When you do leave, your jaw is set, whether in anger, grief or both I can't say.

Why can't I tell, John? It's as if my deductive abilities have quit functioning, at least in regard to you.

Molly tells me you're doing as well as can be expected. What is that supposed to even mean?

Are you taking care of Rosie? I know you're meeting her physical needs, but are you talking to her? She's a very attentive listener, though she often disagrees with what she's been told. Does she still have the rattle I gave her? Do you hold her and kiss her? I'm told babies need that as well. I suspect you need it too, John.

Make Rosie laugh today for both your sakes.

-Sherlock


	7. Chapter 7

John,

I haven't told you this before. Mary asked me to save you. How am I supposed to do that when you won't even talk to me?

I deduced about the time before we met. I know what you used to do with your gun. If only I could be sure you're not doing that again. Tell me you're not. You have Rosie to think of now, you didn't then. You wouldn't do that to Rosie, leave her alone, even if you don't give a damn about the rest of us. I tell myself that over and over.

These letters... I don't know that they help. They tend to bring out my darkest thoughts. Maybe I'll take a break from writing them for a while. I don't know.

Tell me how to save you, John. Tell me!

-Sherlock


	8. Chapter 8

John,

I haven't written in several weeks. We both know why. I was too high to put together anything coherent. That's over now. I swear it is.

I want to say thank you for how you treat me. Mycroft... I know he cares, but he looks down his nose at me, so disappointed and judgemental when I turn to drugs. You've seen how Molly reacts, angry and judgemental herself. Mrs. Hudson simply worries. She puts up with it to a point. I'm still in shock over her kidnapping me. She is one of England's treasures. But you, John. You worry, you get angry, but you don't judge me. Perhaps it's because you're a doctor and used to separating the person from the disease.

I want you to know it's over now. I'm done with the drugs. I know you worry that I'll give in to them, but when the cravings get strong, I remind myself that Mary bought my life. I only risked it recently because I knew she would approve if it saved you.

Thank you for forgiving me. Though Mary saved my life, it wouldn't be worth living without you in it.

-Sherlock


	9. Chapter 9

John,

I know you told me Mary's death wasn't my fault, but I can't make myself believe it. I keep thinking of the moment I hit the floor in the morgue. For several long minutes, I forgot all about my plan. All I could think was that I deserved every bit of pain I was feeling. I didn't want you to stop. I wanted it to go on forever. Now, of course, I'm glad they stopped you. I can't imagine what it would have done to you if you had... if I hadn't recovered.

I still feel guilt. I feel it in a measure I never have done before. In my weakest moments I want to feel that pain again. I want to throw myself in harm's way just for the chance to feel it, but I know Mary would never approve. At least I can feel it in dreams.

-Sherlock


	10. Chapter 10

John,

I got to see Rosie today. I know you'll never see this, so it's safe for me to express sentiment here. Being with Rosie almost makes everything alright, at least for a bit. She doesn't look at me with worry, judgment or disappointment. She smiles and tugs on my hair. It lets me forget things for a short time.

How long does it take for the pain of loss and guilt to fade? I'm inexperienced in these things. Will they be with me forever? I am beginning to understand the weight you carried from your time in Afghanistan, the sadness you projected when we first met. You lost friends there. I don't know how you coped. I didn't truly understand what it was I was trying to fix by dragging you across London with me on cases. I was an arrogant prick, but we both know I often am. How do I cope, John? I don't know. I think I need to spend more time with you and Rosie. It's all that helps.

-Sherlock


	11. Chapter 11

John,

Hudders is driving me mad. She keeps trying to feed me. Today, she brought me breakfast, lunch, and tea. If I don't eat at least part of it, she gives me that look of hers. I suspect she's kept the gun she pulled on me when... Nevermind.

I don't have what it takes to bark at her and make her leave, not now. You see, her presence keeps me from feeling like a prisoner in my own flat. She comes in and bustles about regardless who is here keeping their eyes on me. I'm not going to relapse, I've said that in these letters before, but none of you believe it yet. I don't blame you, you all have your reasons, good ones.

Anyway, I hope you come see me this evening, well, me and Hudders. You should bring Rosie and we could eat in her kitchen. I promise, if you do, I'll actually eat something.

-Sherlock


	12. Chapter 12

John,

What's happened over the last few days... Dare I admit that I'm still shaken to the core? We haven't talked about it yet, not you and I, not really. I've only talked to Mycroft about it in practical terms. I don't think I can leave it that way. I could have lost either or even both of you to Eurus and without ever saying the things that should be said. It's difficult with Mycroft, but in a way it's more difficult with you.

I need to tell you three words. I said them to Molly, but she's not the one they're meant for. They're meant for you. You said you might move back to Baker Street soon. I should tell you before you do, I know I should, but I'm afraid. I can admit that much, you've seen fear in my eyes too many times for me to try to deny that I feel it keenly. Whatever I do, whenever I manage it... Please don't turn away.

-Sherlock


	13. Chapter 13

John had begun the move back to Baker Street earlier in the morning. As a consequence, he was stood at the desk in the living room of 221B unpacking a box. He dropped pens and pencils into the topmost drawer of the desk, then he pulled out a stack of papers and folders. Sitting down, he opened the bottom drawer, the one he had used the last time he had lived here, to put the papers away. There was a lone notebook in the drawer, across the cover of which was written simply 'John'. He hesitated only a moment, wondering what was in the notebook before he shoved it into another drawer, unopened and unread, but not forgotten.

It was late in the evening and Sherlock was sitting in his chair. John had gone to get a shower after the long day's work of moving. The detective took advantage of the fact and opened went to the desk to get his notebook. It wasn't where he normally kept it, but in the drawer above. For a few hearbeats, he froze, fearing that John had read its contents. He dismissed the idea. If the doctor had read it, Sherlock would have been able to detect a change in his demeanour. Heaving a sigh of relief, he sat and began to write another letter. He needed to finish before John finished with his shower and then hide the notebook.

John,

You're here with me at Baker Street. The air seems sweeter, the light brighter with your and Rosie's presence. I know that's just sentimental twaddle. I don't care, it's how things feel.

Sherlock glanced over at the baby who was enjoying floor time and trying to raise her head. She was gumming her little fist and slobbering everywhere. The detective couldn't help but smile at her. He was so lost in his admiration of her that he didn't notice the water in the shower being turned off. It wasn't until John stood in the middle of the living room that he noticed tge doctor's presence. "John, you startled me."

"I had best write that down. I doubt it'll happen again." John gave his hair one last swipe with his towel, then draped the towel around his neck. "What's that, then?" the doctor asked, seeing the notebook clutched tightly in Sherlock's hands. "I found it earlier."

"It's nothing," Sherlock replied too repidly. His quick response raised John's suspicions.

"Alright. Fine." The doctor lunged for Sherlock and wrenched the notebook out of his hands. "Then you won't mind if I have a look." He turned to the first page as he lunged fir the kitchen.

"John! No!" the detective yelled as he chased after him.

It was to no avail. John had managed to place the table between them. Laughing, he began reading aloud:

John,

I'm seeing Ella now. She wants me to write you a letter. She's big on writing, isn't she? Ella said I can burn the letter when I'm done. I don't know if I can do that, not when it's about you...

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I didn't know." John had lowered the notebook, a stricken look on his face. "I thought it would be full of silly deductions about me or... Fuck." Ashamed, he looked down at the floor. He had invaded Sherlock's private thoughts in the worst way possible. His flatmate's justified anger would surely fall on him at any moment and there was no way he could defend himself.

Sherlock's face had drained of all colour. He couldn't find his voice for several long minutes. When he did, it was to croak out, "You were never meant to see those. No one was. I..." He turned and walked through to the living room, dazed.

"I'm sorry," John tried again.

"It doesn't matter." The detective moved towards the door to the flat. He felt completely exposed even though John hadn't read beyond the first paragraph. "It doesn't matter at all." Sherlock walked through the door and didn't look back.

"Well fuck." John dropped into one of the kitchen chairs. Things had been going so well and he had to go and act like a teenager. He had really cocked up.

The notebook lay on the table just inches from his fingertips, it's very presence an accusation.


	14. Chapter 14

John stared at the notebook, unseeing, for almost half an hour. It was the buzz of his mobile that startled him from his reverie. Glancing at it, he saw that he had received a single text from Mycroft.

 **Read it - MH**

Mycroft Bloody Holmes, the doctor thought, but without the venom he would have attributed to it in years past. He sighed. John knew the government official meant well, but his track record with this sort of thing was 50/50 at best. Perhaps he should ignore Mycroft's advice. Perhaps not.

In the end, John succumbed to his curiosity, spurred on by his need to know, Mycroft's suggestion and his own weak will. He took his time, hands shaking, to open it, then he read each letter in turn. Different bits burnt themselves into his mind and onto his heart.

* * *

 _You looked into my heart and saw the dark things. Everyone sees the dark things. What made you different was you saw something more, something of worth. You made me laugh and feel once again when I had tried so long not to. You made me want to be a better man._

 _Your anger is falling down on me every moment of every day. It's like an acid rain that burns down to my bones. I'm supposed to save you, Mary asked it of me. I don't know that I can when I can't save myself._

* * *

 _Today is a perfect waste. Life is a perfect waste. If I knew what you were thinking, I'd know what action to take. Are you merely angry with me or do you truly hate me? The answer makes all the difference._

 _See, you have taught me something, no matter how little - to think of you. Because of that, I'll live another day for you, just in case it's what you want. From now on, every day I live is for you, you and Rosie._

* * *

 _Perhaps I should leave London. I could slip away without him noticing. He doesn't see everything that happens in this city. I could get away from everything. It's tempting. Or I could disappear among the homeless. I did that once before. There's a wonderful anonymity in it._

* * *

 _I deduced about the time before we met. I know what you used to do with your gun. If only I could be sure you're not doing that again. Tell me you're not. You have Rosie to think of now, you didn't then. You wouldn't do that to Rosie, leave her alone, even if you don't give a damn about the rest of us. I tell myself that over and over._

* * *

 _Thank you for forgiving me. Though Mary saved my life, it wouldn't be worth living without you in it._

* * *

 _I know you told me Mary's death wasn't my fault, but I can't make myself believe it. I keep thinking of the moment I hit the floor in the morgue. For several long minutes, I forgot all about my plan. All I could think was that I deserved every bit of pain I was feeling. I didn't want you to stop. I wanted it to go on forever. Now, of course, I'm glad they stopped you. I can't imagine what it would have done to you if you had... if I hadn't recovered._

* * *

 _I need to tell you three words. I said them to Molly, but she's not the one they're meant for. They're meant for you. You said you might move back to Baker Street soon. I should tell you before you do, I know I should, but I'm afraid. I can admit that much, you've seen fear in my eyes too many times for me to try to deny that I feel it keenly. Whatever I do, whenever I manage it... Please don't turn away._

* * *

Every word that John read was full of guilt, remorse, and concern for both him and Rosie. Every word but the last so unexpected bit. The doctor realised immediately that he should have known. No one would have put themselves through the things Sherlock had for just a mere friend. No one would have forgiven John the wrongs he had perpetrated, and he _had_ done wrong by Sherlock. He dropped his head into his hands. He had to find a way to fix this, to make things right. If only his friend would come home and give hime one last chance.


	15. Chapter 15

John was roused from his guilty misery by the sound of Rosie laughing. He went into the living room to find her up on her hands and knees, wobbling. "You'll be crawling before you know it," he told her. "But don't start right now, sweetie. You don't want Uncle Sherlock to miss it." He patted her back, then held his breath when he heard the sound of heavy footfalls on the stairs. From the sound of them, they were probably Sherlock's and his friend didn't sound eager to be home.

A moment later, the detective entered the flat. He looked haggard, but determined. The dazed look from earlier had completely fled. He considered John for several long moments before accususing him, "You read them all, then. I suppose Mycroft goaded you to it." Oddly, his accusation was without heat. He walked to his chair and threw himself down in it. "Did you find it enlightening? Did you find my self pity loathsome?" He pulled his knees up to his chest. "I suppose the bit at the end disgusted you. So, there's no need for you to finish unpacking. Just let me say my goodbyes to Rosie before you go." With that, the detective dropped his forehead to his knees and let out a shuddering breath.

It took everthing the doctor had in him not to simply throw himself at Sherlock's feet and beg him for forgiveness. Instead, he went over and pulled his chair close to him and sat down, leaving Rosie to her tummy time. John leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. First thing's first, he had to determine what Sherlock wanted from him. It wasn't okay for him to keep hurting his friend anymore. "Sherlock. I'm going to ask you a question and I'm going to respect your answer, whatever it is." The doctor took a deep breath. "After everthing I've done to you, even this latest cock up, do you want me to stay or go? It's up to you."

"I don't want you to go," came Sherlock's muffled reply. Despite everything, he knew he couldn't live without John. Exist, yes. Live, no. Still, he couldn't look up at his friend for fear of what he would see on the doctor's face.

"Alright." John sat up straight. "Then the first thing you need to know is this: I'm not going anywhere. Rosie and I are staying as long as you will have us. If you're afraid of me leaving, put that fear to rest. We have a lot to talk about. I have a lot of explaining to do. But for now, I think that's the most important thing for you to understand." John waited, but his friend didn't respond, just stayed tucked into a ball on his chair. Alright, it wouldn't be that easy. He was going to have to bare his soul a bit. God, it would be nearly impossible, but perhaps he could offer one more thing that might get them through the immediate crisis. John cleared his throat, then began, "Sherlock, I'm a broken man. I loved Mary, no matter how fucked up our lives together were. That's something I can't change."

At that, Sherlock's head snapped up. "I've never asked you to. Never! I loved her too..." His voice broke off and he made a strangled noise. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to hear that. She meant more to you. She was your wife."

"Yeah, but she was your friend, too." The doctor inched forward and rested his hand on one of Sherlock's feet. "You're entitled to mourn her, just as much as I am," he paused to hold up a finger. "Don't argue with me…" he sighed, trailing off. "But none of that was my point." He straightened his back again as if going into battle. "In your last letter, you made it pretty clear that you... love me."

The detective made as if to leap from his chair and flee, but John didn't let him, moving to block any attempt at rising from the chair that Sherlock might make.

"Wait. Hear me out." The doctor rubbed his hands together. "This is hard. I can't... I can't commit to you like that. Not now while Mary's loss is so fresh. Not while I still wake up and reach for her every morning." He still blocked Sherlock's path of retreat. "But give me time. Let me heal. If you can do that, I think, no, I know our friendship can grow into something more. I have a lot to make up for, too, don't get me wrong, I know that. And I know it's a lot to ask..."

"Shut up, John," Sherlock finally said as he unwound his long limbs. "I don't know what you think you need to make up for, but I'll let you, if you let me do the same. As for waiting..." He swallowed audibly. "I've waited this long. I can wait as long as it takes." Even if it killed him.


	16. Chapter 16

For days, John and Sherlock tiptoed around one another. Every time the doctor tried to strike up a meaningful conversation, Sherlock deflected it. If he kept pushing, the detective found a reason to leave the flat for hours at a time. Finally John had had enough of it and decided to take a page from his flatmate's book and write a letter, but this letter he fully intended for Sherlock to read.

 _Sherlock,_

 _There are so many things you need to know. One of the most important is that I am truly not angry with you. I've told you that before, but I know you don't believe me. How could you with my track record?_

 _When you came home after the fall, I didn't greet you with the joy and hugs that you deserved. I hit you out of anger, more than once. Never did I ask about your years away or what had happened to you during that time. My actions were inexcusable, but they were hardly the worst things I would ever do to you._

 _After Mary... I blamed you. That was the worst kind of mental violence I could have perpetrated on you. Do you know why? Because you believed me. That in and of itself is unforgivable. But what I did in the morgue... I had to disarm you, yes, but I could have killed you the way I kicked you. God, if I had hurt you any more than I did, I couldn't live with myself. That's why I waited so long to move back in with you. I had to be able to trust myself never to hurt you like that again._

 _So do you see? I'm not angry. I have no reason to be. If anyone has reason, it's you._

 _-John_

The doctor folded the letter in half and left it on Sherlock's chair. He hoped that when his friend read it, he would take it to heart.


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock found and read John's letter at two in the morning. He read it and reread it a number of times before folding it carefully and tucking it away in an antique book on forensic methodology. The detective then perched in his chair and drew his knees to his chest. It had never occurred to him that John felt guilty for hitting him. Why would it have? Sherlock felt he had deserved every blow, but John didn't. That was clear from his letter. His flatmate, his friend thought the beatings were completely unjustified. Had Sherlock been wrong all this time? He tried to see the situation without the cloud of guilt that hovered over him, but couldn't do it. He needed more information. He needed to talk to John.

Sherlock padded up the stairs, then hesitated before opening John's bedroom door. He stood in the doorway for several long moments, trying to decide if he should wake his friend or not. Just as he decided to retreat downstairs, John rolled over.

"Sherlock, is that you?" the doctor asked, squinting against the light.

The detective shifted from foot to foot. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have disturbed you. It can wait until morning."

Though still not completely awake, John knew that whatever had brought his friend to his room in the middle of the night had to be important. Maybe Sherlock had read his letter. If that were the case and he let this opportunity to talk pass, it might never come again.

"S'alright. Come on in." The doctor moved over in the bed to make room for his friend to sit down. After several long moments, Sherlock did so.

"John..."

The doctor waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. "Did you find my letter?" John asked. Sherlock nodded. "Did you read it?" The detective nodded again. "Right. So, now you know just how shitty I feel about how I hurt you." He looked down at his hands that were folded on the duvet. "I'll never be able to say I'm sorry enough."

Sherlock looked puzzled. "Why?"

"Why? Jesus, Sherlock I hit you. I kicked you. That's never okay. You didn't deserve it. You deserved so much better. You were grieving Mary too, blaming yourself..." John's voice broke. "I was a complete bastard for ever blaming you. I should have known you would take it to heart. You have this habit of believing anything I say if it involves emotions, proper behaviour or guilt. You've got to stop that. It's time for you to think for yourself." He reached out and took Sherlock's hand. "You know, I'm seeing someone about anger management and I probably always will, just to be safe. I care about you too much to hurt you again."

"Maybe I didn't deserve what happened in the morgue, but when I came back after the fall... I know I deserved that," the detective insisted.

"No! You didn't deserve being hit for saving my life, not to mention Greg's and Mrs. Hudson's. You didn't deserve being hit for enduring whatever happened those two years you were away." John squeezed his hand tightly. "Some day, you're going to have to tell me about those two years just so I can know how big a dick I was."

Sherlock smiled at John's characterisation of himself. "You really don't blame me anymore, do you?" he asked with wonder.

"No, I don't and I never should have," John promised. "Tell me you know you didn't deserve what I did to you. I have to hear you say it."

Sherlock met John's eyes. "I didn't deserve being hit. I know that now." He looked down where their hands were joined. "John, I still trust you. You should know that. The last few years have been... hard. Can we put them behind us? Please."

"We still need to talk about some things, but yes, I think we can."

They sat together in the darkness for several minutes, before Sherlock left and went to his own room ostensibly to sleep, but in reality to think.


	18. Chapter 18

The next morning, nothing was said about their late night conversation. John continued his unpacking and Sherlock provided assistance in five minute spurts. When the doctor pulled his gun's lock box out of a larger moving box, Sherlock glanced over at it and winced. John didn't fail to notice and he thought about some of his friend's letters he had read. "I'll just tuck this away, then, shall I? We don't want it laying about where Rosie can get to it. Even though it's locked, it's best to be safe."

Sherlock nodded, thinking about the darker use the gun could be put to. "I wouldn't, you know," he blurted out, looking horrified at his own words. Quickly the detective turned away and pretended to be engrossed in the contents of another large box.

John set the lock box down on the desk and stepped around rosie who was sitting up and chewing on a plush caterpillar. "I think I would very much like to hear the rest of that, what you were saying." The doctor waited with his heart in his throat. This was one of the conversations he had wanted to have, but hadn't known how to bring up.

The detective kept rummaging in the box, the muscles in his jaw working. Finally he stopped, though he didn't look up. "When Faith came to visit, well, my sister disguised as Faith, she presented herself as someone on the brink of suicide." Sherlock shifted something to the side in the box. "It happened whilst I was talking with her."

John wanted to move closer to his friend, but was scared it would cause him to close up. Instead, he asked quietly, "What was that?"

"I figured it out. Our lives are not our own." He gave a bitter laugh. "I should have realised it after my return when I learned what my fall had done to you, but I was still too self absorbed. It took Mary dying to make me understand. Our lives belong to those we love, to those who love us. If we take our own lives, that's who we're taking them from, not ourselves." Sherlock swallowed hard, not daring to look at the doctor.

For his part, John felt something in himself shift. He had flirted with suicide on more than one occasion. Rosie clapped and threw the caterpillar in the air. Bending over, the doctor picked her up. He kissed her on the cheek, then walked over and put her into Sherlock's arms. "I suppose that means we both have to keep going, no matter what. Sherlock, if you ever feel... like that again, tell me. Even if I'm angry with you. You never have to go through that alone." John's hand went to the detective's back and rubbed soothing circles there.

Sherlock rested his cheek against Rosie's, who immediately drew away and began chewing on his curls. "It goes both ways you know. I never want you to sit alone with that gun of yours. No matter how you feel." He looked at John with his piercing grey eyes. "Never again."

The doctor nodded. "I won't. I swear. I'll come to you instead." Rosie reached for John with one hand and he stepped near, expecting her to come into his arms. Instead, she held onto Sherlock tightly and grabbed the doctor's nose. "Ow!" he said in an automatically playful tone. Rosie giggled and, just like that, the serious mood was broken.

The next half hour was spent entertaining the little girl, too much laughter from everyone present. It became a brief time of carefree healing, something that seemed all to rare in 221B.


	19. Chapter 19

Sherlock sat in his chair, thinking. Across from him, John sat, typing up the case they had solved the day before. It was quiet, except for the occasional sounds from Rosie who had been placed on a blanket between them.

There came a tug on Sherlock's trouser leg and he looked down. Rosie grinned up at him from from where she sat. "How did you get there?" he asked her pleasantly.

The doctor looked up just in time to see the little girl get up on all fours and crawl away from Sherlock and straight towards the fireplace. "Rosie!" He leapt from his chair and scooped her up before she could reach the flames. "You're crawling!" He held her up in the air and twirled her around. John placed his giggling daughter on the floor and backed away. She immediately crawled straight towards him.

Sherlock clenched a fist over his suddenly aching heart. He had come so close to missing this moment for so many reasons: his own stupidity, John's anger, misunderstandings. Suddenly he found it difficult to breathe and his eyes filled with tears. He shouldn't be crying, not now. This was a happy occasion and he didn't want to ruin it. He got up, plastering a smile on his face and headed towards the bathroom where he could hopefully compose himself before John noticed something was wrong.

Of course, that didn't work.

John turned to the detective, beaming, then he noticed the look on Sherlock's face. He placed Rosie on the floor and moved swiftly to his friend's side. "What's wrong? What is it?"

All Sherlock could do was shake his head. If he had spoken, he would have started to cry and he had done enough of that lately. He was disgusting, a broken, miserable, thing, subject to ridiculous mood swings.

The doctor pulled him down with one hand and rested Sherlock's head on his shoulder, stroking his neck and making soothing sounds. "Hey, whatever it is, it's alright." His other arm wrapped around Sherlock's waist. Slowly, he began to rock the detective from side to side. He kept doing it until Sherlock had calmed down.

The whole time, Rosie crawled happily around their feet.

Sherlock pulled back slightly and looked down, avoiding the doctor's eyes. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking how close I came to missing that, Rosie crawling for the first time. It was... overwhelming." It had shaken him to the core.

"I thought we promised each other we wouldn't hide how we feel anymore. We have to talk about these things. It's hard. God, I know it is. I'm one of the world's worst." He hugged Sherlock again. "But I think we can do it if we try." This time it was John who pulled away. He hesitated, then placed a chaste kiss on Sherlock's cheek. "Keep trying. For me." He bent and tossed Rosie's favourite toy a few feet away and she immediately went after it.

Sherlock's hand came up and touched the spot John had kissed. He stood there for a moment, unmoving as he catalogued the sensation in his Mind Palace, then he returned to the present. He sat on the floor and joined John and Rosie in play. His heart no longer aching like before. He still felt a bit melancholy, but his companions soon chased it away.


	20. Chapter 20

A few weeks had passed since Rosie had become mobile. Today, John had gone to the clinic, leaving Sherlock to try to keep up with her. It was harder than the detective had imagined.

"Rosie, would you get back here?" Sherlock said as she made a break for the kitchen. He really was going to have to talk to John. They had discussed child proofing the flat. It was long overdue.

The detective scooped the little girl up and sat down with her in his chair. There was so much he wanted to talk to the doctor about, but he was... Sherlock admitted it to himself, he was scared.

"Rosie," the detective asked the little girl seriously, "what do you think I should do? You're daddy has been doing and saying things lately that I don't understand. Yes, there are things that even I don't understand, especially where sentiment is concerned."

In answer, Rosie grabbed his curls and pulled. Sherlock didn't try to stop her. In truth, it didn't bother him at all.

"I bet your daddy talks to you, too. I wish you could tell me what he says." Sherlock bounced Rosie on his knee and she giggled. "Maybe I should write him a letter, one that I mean for him to read this time." Rosie clapped happily at that. The detective stood and set her in her play pen, then went to the desk. After several minutes of thought, he began writing.

 _John,_

 _I'm so confused. I don't know where I stand. Be certain that I'm not trying to pressure you into anything, but I need clarification on your actions._

 _You've been touching me more: your hand lingering on mine when you pass me my tea, your hand finding its way to the small of my back, your lips brushing my cheek and once my lips. You do all of these things, yet nothing else has changed. What does it mean?_

 _You leave Rosie in my care, so I know you truly trust me again. I don't worry about that anymore._

 _I'm not good at these things but maybe... Do you feel guilty for wanting to be with me? I don't want to be a source of guilt for you, never that. If that is truly it, then don't try to force yourself to be what you think I want. Just having you in my life is enough._

 _-Sherlock_

He reread the letter, unsure about it, but ultimately deciding it said what he wanted to say and left it in John's chair.

Rosie bounced in her play pen, trying to get Sherlock's attention. When she started babbling, "Dadadada," she got it fully.

"No, no, no, Rosie," the detective told her, placing a finger against her lips. "You can't do that until Daddy is here to hear it. Hush. Dada is Daddy, not me."

The little girl didn't care. She kept saying, "Dadadada," over and over again.


	21. Chapter 21

When John returned to 221, he was caught by Mrs. Hudson before he could go up the stairs to B. "John, dear. Little Rosie is with me. She's napping right now." Their landlady pulled the door to A partially shut. "You have to do something about Sherlock, John. I haven't seen him like this except when you were planning your wedding."

"Really?" John fiddled with his keys in a concerned gesture. "What do you mean?" He looked up the stairs as he listened to Mrs. Hudson.

"He's been running about all day from your flat down to C, which he has rented, by the way, and I can here him upstairs doing I've no idea what in the flat."

With a worried look, John asked, "Do you mind watching Rosie a bit longer? I need to see what's going on with Sherlock."

"It's not a problem, dear. She's sleeping anyway. Go see what's troubling our boy, won't you?" Mrs. Hudson didn't wait for the doctor's nod. She simply stepped back into A and closed the door.

When John entered B, his eyes went wide. He hardly recognised the flat. It put him in mind of the napkin incident as he and Mary had come to refer to it when they were alone. Sherlock had cleaned nearly the entire living room and kitchen. The knife was missing from the mantle. The doctor looked around for his flatmate and found him. Sherlock was stood by the kitchen table, boxing up chemistry equipment.

"Sherlock, stop a minute. Something's clearly bothering you. Let's talk about it." John went to his chair and picked up his flatmate's letter. He glanced from it to Sherlock who looked caught out. Sitting down, he read through his friend's words. When he had finished, John sat there, the letter dangling from his hand. He'd done it again, been selfish without thought to Sherlock's feelings. Rubbing his eyes, he asked the detective to join him, "Please, Sherlock. Stop what you're doing, come sit down and I'll answer your questions." He looked around at his friend who was still stood in the kitchen. "Please," he said again.

Hesitantly, Sherlock came into the living room and sat in his chair. It took a concentrated effort not to pull his knees to his chest in a protective fashion. "Go ahead. Talk."

John didn't hesitate this time. He plunged straight in. "You want to know what all those little touches are about. They're about me being selfish, like always. I'm not ready for a full relationship, as much as I wish I was. I think I owe Mary's memory more time..." He barked a laugh. "Although I think she would be the first to approve. Still... I can't help myself. I need to touch you, to feel your presence. It calms me and makes the ache go away for a time. That said, I know it has to be confusing. I need them though, like I need air to breathe. Do you understand? I don't expect anything more," he promised.

Sherlock nodded. "So you wish to continue these... touches." His brow was furrowed. "But they aren't meant to mean anything?"

The hurt in his voice rang clear to the doctor's ears. "No, no, no. They mean everything. Weren't you listening? I said I need them like I need air. How to explain?" John thought for a moment, then he thought he understood. "You need to be able to reciprocate. I'm such an idiot. Look, I don't want people to think I'm being disrespectful of Mary, but within these wall, if you want to, I don't know, lay on the sofa with your head in my lap, for example, it would be... nice." John shrugged and looked down at the floor. Maybe he had got it all wrong. "Or not."

"Within these walls, but not without," Sherlock confirmed. He thought he could live with that, for a time at least, but definitely not forever.

"Just a couple more months," John assured him. "Any sooner and people might take it wrong. You know what I nearly did with..." his stomach turned at the thought, "Eurus when I didn't know it was her. I won't have people think I disrespected either Mary or you enough to have an affair with you. It's okay if Mrs. Hudson knows and I'd trust Greg, but that's it. And by then, I think I might be ready for something more." John reached out, took Sherlock's hand and held it. "Just one more thing," he smiled, trying to lighten the mood, "did you really think it was necessary to move the knife from the mantle?"

Sherlock looked slightly embarrassed, which was far better than confused or forlorn. "I know Rosie is only crawling now, but she'll be climbing soon. It's never to early to take precautions." He stood, pulling John to his feet. The doctor had said he could initiate physical contact, so he hugged him, then tugged him towards the door. "Rosie started babbling today. Curiously, it sounded a lot like 'Dada'."


	22. Chapter 22

Slowly, over the next couple of weeks, things began to change between John and Sherlock. It wasn't that a giant shift had occurred, but rather a slow build up of little things had happened. The doctor stopped frequently whenever he passed Sherlock, be the detective hunched over his microscope or stood making tea, and simply placed a hand on his shoulder or arm. John seemed to get some sort of reassurance from the contact. For the detective's part, he stopped John for brief hugs that sometimes included Rosie, but just as often didn't. The other little touches were still there between them as was the fleeting brush of lips and they often sat together on the sofa, Sherlock's head in John's lap.

In the same way that their physical interactions had changed, so had the general atmosphere in the flat. There was less negative tension between them. They didn't tip toe around the flat anymore, worrying that they would somehow offend one another.

Even Rosie seemed to be able to feel the difference. She had always been a happy baby, but she smiled and laughed even more readily than she used to. Sherlock still couldn't get her to quit saying 'dadadada' whenever he was around. It was about to drive him mad.

"Why does it bother you so much?" John asked one evening, as Rosie crawled from him to the detective, babbling continuously.

"Because you're her father. She should call you dada, not me." Sherlock picked Rosie up and started bouncing her on his knee.

"She does call me dada," John said with a grin. "She only makes that sound for you and me." He gave a shrug. "I don't see anything wrong with it. She's a very smart girl."

"But I'm not-"

"Stop," the doctor interrupted. He stood up and went to stand in front of Sherlock. Gently, he took Rosie from his lap and placed her on the floor. For the very first time, he sat on the detective's lap. Leaning in slowly, he pressed their lips together. It wasn't the light brush of lips that had become so familiar to them both. It was a genuine kiss. He probed against Sherlock's lips with his tongue until the his lips parted and granted him entrance. The kiss was slow and full of need. It wasn't a sexual need, but something more emotional. When they broke apart, John dropped his head to the detective's shoulder. "If we're going to do this, and I know we are, you're going to be part of Rosie's life for a very long time. If that's a problem-"

Now it was Sherlock's turn to cut John off. "Don't be ridiculous. I already love Rosie. You know that. I thought... I thought you might be jealous." He couldn't believe he was being so calm after their first kiss, but he couldn't let John worry, not about this.

"Numpty," John said with a fond smile. He brushed his lips against the detective's neck in a soft kiss.

Sherlock turned his head at an awkward angle and looked down at John. "Can I have another kiss? Like the other one?"

The doctor smiled. "Of course you can." He sat up straighter and framed Sherlock's face with both hands, then brought their lips together for another kiss.

The detective couldn't believe this was on the table already. He had expected it to be weeks before John was ready for this. The doctor deepened the kiss and all coherent thought fled Sherlock's mind.

They didn't break it off until Rosie started tugging on the detective's trouser leg and saying, "Dadadada," very crossly.

The two men chuckled and John bent to pick her up. He settled her on his lap and the three of them were grinning broadly.

"She is a very bright child," Sherlock said quite seriously, then he bent and kissed the top of her head.

"Do you know what she calls Mrs. Hudson?" John asked. He answered his own question. "Nana."


	23. Chapter 23

That night, when John was brushing his teeth, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He spit out the toothpaste and stared at himself. What was he doing? What had he done? He rinsed out his mouth, then rinsed off his tooth brush, his left hand shaking as he set it down. He had kissed Sherlock is what he had done and not just a chaste kiss but a full on, genuine snog.

The doctor closed his eyes, feeling overwhelmed and full of dread. He hadn't seen Mary since that moment in the living room when he'd confessed to flirting with another woman via text. The thought that he might see her now, after kissing Sherlock, with a disapproving look simply terrified him. He could handle just about anything but that. John flinched as he heard her voice coming from just behind him.

"So you kissed Sherlock!" Mary's voice was sunny and full of mirth. "Stop torturing yourself over it. If it had been anyone else, I'd be very angry right now, but Sherlock?" She laughed. "If you hadn't kissed him, I would be disapointed."

Shaking his head, John told himself 'She's not real.' He repeated it over and over, his fingers tightening on the edge of the sink.

"Oh, John, I may not be real, but you know this is how I would feel about it. I've always known you love him. It didn't matter, not as long as I could have part of you too." Mary sounded so sure of both herself and him. "'I don't shave for Sherlock Holmes.' Do you remember how I laughed at that? I knew even then."

"You're only saying what I want to hear," John said as he finally opened his eyes and saw the vision of Mary behind him. It hurt to see her even as it brought about a perverse joy.

She shook her head, smiling sadly. "No, I'm telling you what you _need_ to hear. Don't drag this out any longer. Life is short. You know that all too well. That's what the real me would tell you."

The doctor spun around to confront his vision, but Mary was gone. He was left there, feeling shaky and unsettled. Life _was_ too short. John felt caught between two imperatives: being respectful of Mary's memory and not wasting anymore time where it came to Sherlock. Bending over at the waist, he rested his hands on his knees and concentrated on his breathing. He had to get it together soon or Sherlock would suspect something was wrong. Not only that, but he had to make a decision soon or risk tearing himself apart.

Straightening up, the doctor turned and splashed cold water on his face, then he towelled off. He had loved Mary, despite everything. Oh, he had still been angry with her for so many things when she had died, but he had loved her. Given time, the anger would have faded, just as it had faded towards Sherlock regarding the fall. John took a deep breath to steady himself. Deep down inside, he knew what his decision had to be... time was too precious to waste, but he needed just a few more days to act, a few more days to tell Mary goodbye.

Feeling in control of himself once more, he exited the bathroom. As he passed through the kitchen and living room, he told Sherlock, "I'll just check on Rosie, then we can find something to watch." Much to the doctor's relief, Sherlock didn't even look up from his laptop, he simply hummed an affirmative.

John climbed the stairs to his and Rosie's bedroom. He crossed over to the baby bed and looked at his daughter sleeping. She looked so peaceful and content, unworried by the troubles of the world. He envied her that, but seeing it in her settled his own nerves a bit. Reaching out, he stroked her light dusting of hair and smiled. "Sleep well, precious," he told her softly, then turned to go back downstairs to join Sherlock, his best friend and so much more.


	24. Chapter 24

Another week had passed and John wanted to take another step in moving their relationship forward. He was so nervous about it, though, that he didn't think he could get the words out in the right order. Letters had worked so far between them for a great number of things, so he decided he might as well write Sherlock one about this. Actually, it would be more of an invitation, but whatever.

Sitting down whilst Sherlock was out, the doctor took his time to get his words just right, then he committed them to paper.

 _Sherlock,_

 _You have been very patient with me. I have to ask you to be patient a bit longer. I'm not ready for everything a relationship entails. However, I feel that it's time for us to move forward._

 _When I go to bed at night, I have Rosie in her baby bed to keep me company, but my own bed remains cold and lonely. I wake in the middle of the night and I find I don't reach for Mary anymore. I reach for you. It's just sharing a bed that I am talking about, but I wonder if you would do me the honour of joining me in my room tonight? I would sleep better with you there. I hope you would sleep better beside me. Think about it. Please. I miss you every night._

 _It's not just that. I think I'm ready to let the world think of us as a couple. Only if you want to, of course. The rest of it isn't too far away anymore, I promise. I dream of the day when we have it all._

 _Love, John_

The doctor reread it and, satisfied, set it on Sherlock's chair to be found later. He had pondered adding 'love' for quite some time, but it had felt right to put it there. He stared at the letter for a long moment, then walked away, hoping he would get a favourable response from the detective later that day.


	25. Chapter 25

Sherlock came home to find the living room empty. Listening, he heard John moving around upstairs. It was a simple deduction, given the time, that he was checking on Rosie as she slept. For that reason, the detective didn't call out an announcement that he had returned home.

Removing his coat, Sherlock tossed it onto the sofa, then he crossed over to sit in his chair. He had quite a bit of thinking to do about his latest case. Hopefully John would join him on it tomorrow if he didn't get called into the clinic. The detective froze when he saw the letter in his chair. Based on past experience, reading it would be difficult. They had only exchanged letters when the words they needed to say were too hard to say and hard to hear. With a trembling hand he picked it up, then sat down. He wasn't sure his legs would hold him whilst he read it.

As Sherlock read the letter, he felt himself get light headed, but not from the emotional upset that he had dreaded. When he finished reading it, he brought it to his chest, his hands shaking and his eyes falling shut. He wanted John to come downstairs now. He wanted to hug him, kiss him and tell him that of course he would share his bed. In his many daydreams about the future, he hadn't only dreamt of sex. He had fantasised about sleeping by the doctor's side, listening to him breath softly and sometimes snore. He had dreamt of wrapping his arm around him and holding him close, of being there to banish the nightmares when they inevitably came. He longed to wake in the morning with John beside him.

The doctor had come downstairs, unnoticed by his normally observant flatmate. He stood there for a bit, just watching the different expressions that passed over Sherlock's face as he clutched the letter to his chest. John thought they were positive emotions that were playing over the detective's features, but with Sherlock, it was difficult to know for sure. After a few minutes, he started feeling guilty for spying on his friend, so he cleared his throat. "Ahem. Sherlock?"

The detective looked up sharply, then leapt to his feet. In a blink, he had crossed the room to stand a mere hand's width from John. "Yes." It had been said with conviction, the full force of Sherlock's love and hopes behind it. "I will happily sleep with you."

John bit his lip. "You do understand that..."

Wrapping his arms around the doctor, Sherlock hugged him. "I understand completely what you are offering and what you are not. It will be more than enough to simply share your bed." He pulled back and stroked along John's jawline. "Don't you know by now that I want what you want? I want to make you happy." He didn't know where these words were coming from. Normally it was difficult to talk about such things. Perhaps it was because they were taking another step forward. "And if you want to tell the world that I am your boyfriend, go ahead, but it's a stupid word."

John laughed. "I don't care what we call it as long as everyone knows we're together." The detective placed a hand on either side of Sherlock's face. "You are incredible. Thank you. This communication thing... It's getting easier, even if we do it in strange ways. It works for us, I think." He kissed the detective gently, lovingly. "Cuddles on the sofa? Doctor Who is coming on."

Sherlock made a face at the idea of watching Doctor Who, but the idea of cuddling swiftly won out. "Alright." He went over and moved his coat, hanging it up, then they sat down together, settling in for an evening spent home together. For once the case could wait.


	26. Chapter 26

When John got up to go to his bedroom, Sherlock hesitated for a moment. The detective had changed into his pyjama bottoms, tatty T-shirt and dressing gown earlier in the evening. Ascending the steps to the doctor's bedroom made his heart feel light, how strange. Entering the bedroom, Sherlock moved to stand by John who was looking down at a sleeping Rosie. The doctor put his arm around Sherlock and drew him near. For several long moments they simply watched her. It should have been boring, but, as with everything concerning Rosie, it was not.

John pulled them towards his bed, dropping his hand and sitting on the side near Rosie. Walking around it, the detective took off his dressing gown, let it fall in a pile on the floor and got into the bed. Soon they were laying side by side, not touching, and it felt horribly awkward. Sherlock was having none of it, not after how long it had taken to get there. He rolled onto his side and wrapped his arm around John's chest, flung a leg across his thighs and rested his head on his shoulder. That proved to be much more satisfying.

The doctor gave a soft chuckle "Yeah, that's more like what I expected." He kissed the top of Sherlock's head. "Goodnight."

The detective hummed happily as he began the process of cataloging this new experience. He had to take in and analyse every scent, every sound. Those that belonged to John had to be separated from those that belonged to Rosie and stored appropriately. It would be a long night and Sherlock didn't expect to sleep, he didn't mind, though, not with so much data to process. He concentrated on Rosie first, smiling as he tucked the sound of her soft, snuffling snores onto a shelf in her room in his Mind Palace. Every little thing about her was safely catalogued and shelved until, at last, Sherlock could move on to doing the same with John. He breathed in deeply the scent of the blond and savoured it, storing it in a little vial with a golden stopper and setting it on a shelf in John's room inside his Mind Palace. He might have to enlarge the room, it was getting cluttered with so much information about the doctor, but not a jot of it would he delete. Sometime during the process of cataloging everything, the detective drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, the detective woke up with John laying chest to chest against him. They smiled at one another and the doctor placed a kiss on the tip of Sherlock's nose. The detective squirmed as John's hand ran up his spine beneath his T-shirt, rubbing soothing circles there. It practically made Sherlock purr with delight until the doctor's hand brushed against one of his scars. It didn't particularly alarm Sherlock, but he hadn't planned on having this discussion, not just yet.

"Sherlock? What's that?" John asked, puzzled. He ran his fingers along the length of the scar. "When did you get that?" He'd seen Sherlock's back at the palace all those years ago and it had been unmarred. The scar under his fingertips was in the wrong place and was the wrong shape to have been from when Mary had shot him.

The detective looked at John with narrowed eyes, his teeth biting into his lower lip. After a moment, he wrapped his arms around the doctor and held him. "I'd rather not talk about it, not right now..." He buried his face in John's shoulder. It wasn't his scars that he didn't want to talk about, but everything they entailed.

John started moving his hand again and he encountered more scars, but he didn't say anything about them. "In your own time, then, yeah? Maybe in a letter?" He gave a gentle laugh. "We're getting pretty good at those." As he continued to rub Sherlock's back, he wanted desperately to know about the scars, but they had pushed through so much already to get where they were and he didn't want to ruin the morning. He wouldn't wait forever to ask again, but he didn't have to know everything right now, even if he wanted to.

Rosie made a sound, then sat up and grabbed the wooden bars of the baby bed. "Dada!" she said happily as she rattled them.


	27. Chapter 27

All the next day, even whilst working a case, Sherlock thought about John's need to know about his scars. Sherlock didn't care about the scars themselves, they didn't matter, it was just transport after all. It was the telling of how he had obtained them that he dreaded. He didn't think he was ready to talk about it, not even from the distance that a letter afforded. Finally, as he explained to Lestrade that the victim had been killed with an egg beater by his girlfriend, he decided to shove the entire matter into a closet in his Mind Palace and forget about it, at least for a while. Unfortunately, it refused to stay there.

Lestrade gaped at the detective. "An egg beater. Seriously?"

The detective nodded absently. Perhaps he should write the letter and get it over with, tell John about Serbia. He shook his head, lost in thought.

Placing an arm around Sherlock's waist, John beamed up at him. "That's what you said, isn't it?" His face shown with admiration and a bit of proprietary pride.

Sherlock blinked, his thoughts having been dragged back to the present. The way John was looking at him made him feel warm inside. He had forgot how good the doctor's admiration felt. Sherlock felt his face breaking into a broad grin, all his worries forgotten.

Greg, of course, noticed the new intimacy. He looked around to see if anyone else had noticed, but the rest of his team was busy. Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked from Sherlock to John. "Does that," he gestured with his other hand to where the doctor had his arm around Sherlock's waist, "mean what I think it does?"

The detective looked down at John, biting his lip, feeling nervous suddenly. He knew the doctor had said they could let people know they were a couple, but he wasn't sure he had really meant it.

John looked up into Sherlock's eyes and smiled. "Yup." He looked at Greg. "I think it's time I claimed this one before he gets away from me, don't you?" He tightened his grip around Sherlock's waist.

"I think it's about bloody time," Lestrade said with a grin, then his face fell. "I mean, I know losing Mary was hard and I-" The DI felt like a right clod. He shouldn't have sounded so enthusiastic, not when John and Sherlock being together meant Mary had had to die.

"It's fine, Greg. I know what you mean," John sought to reassure him. "I still love her. We both do." He glanced up at his boyfriend and saw that Sherlock looked pale with worry. The doctor wasn't having that. He went up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek, sod who might be watching. Sherlock smiled and turned a gratifying shade of pink.

The DI's smile was back in full force. "I'm going to officially stop worrying about the two of you, then. Well, I'll still worry when you're on a case, but other than that, I have plenty of other things to occupy my time." The relief Greg felt couldn't possibly be measured. His two friends had both been in very bad places and he hadn't been sure they would ever make it back. He had known they needed each other, but they had kept hurting one another over and over. It had been painful to witness. He was just glad it was done. Looking at them, he thought it really was. "Sherlock Holmes has a boyfriend," Greg said, then burst out laughing. "We should celebrate with a pint after this case wraps up."

Sally had been walking by when Greg said this last bit. "The Freak has a boyfriend? Who would possibly want to be with him?" That's when she noticed John's arm around Sherlock's waist. "Oh, no, not you. I thought you had seen the freak for what he is."

The doctor stepped away from his boyfriend and into Sally's space. "Donovan, Sherlock and I have been through hell together. Literal hell. We've had enough. Simply enough. If I ever hear you call my boyfriend freak again, it won't matter that you're a woman or that the entire of New Scotland Yard is present, I'll do something about it. And for the record, what Sherlock is is amazing, loyal, steadfast and brilliant. More than I can say for you."

Sally took a step back and glanced at Lestrade. "Aren't you going to do something?"

"I could put you on report for using abusive language if you like," Greg said sweetly. "Other than that, no, I don't believe I have anything pressing to do."

With another wary glance at John, Sally scampered away, muttering to herself."

"Sorry about that," Lestrade told his two friends. "She's just bitter. Things never seem to work out for her." He gave a shrug. "Maybe she'll find someone someday."

Sherlock hadn't heard the DI's words. He just looked at his army doctor with pride and a sense of awe. Even though John definitely needed to learn to reign in his temper and was taking anger management classes to help him do so, it was nice to see that he could still intimidate idiots when it counted. Sherlock refused to feel guilty for being turned on by it. He took John's hand and gave it a squeeze, trying to convey a silent thank you.


	28. Chapter 28

Sherlock climbed quietly out of bed, being certain not to disturb either John or Rosie. He moved silently across the room and out the door, closing it softly behind him. In the darkness, he stood on the landing for a bit, simply thinking about the task at hand. He owed John a letter, an explanation about how he had got his scars. With a nod of determination, he went down the stairs and into the living room to find paper and pen, then he settled himself at the desk to write.

 _My Beloved John,_

 _I haven't been hiding my scars from you, at least not intentionally. I'm not bothered by how they look or what you might think of them. I know you better than to think the sight of a scar would affect how you feel about a person, though how they got there... I know that will affect you._

Sherlock set down his pen and rested his head in his hands. Writing this letter was so very difficult. It required him to visit the darkest corners of his Mind Palace and face memories he'd rather never revisit. Still, he'd do it for John. He picked up the pen and resumed writing.

 _During the two years I was away, I faced many hardships. It didn't matter, though, because I was working to keep the person I love most in the world safe. There were times when I was hunted, alone, cold and hungry. There were times when I kept company with the dregs of existence, people who didn't deserve to live. Sometimes I wanted to give up, I grew so tired, but I never did because I wanted to come home to you._

The detective stopped writing again and looked back over his words. He knew how John would take them. The doctor would read them then promptly feel an upsurge of guilt and that wasn't what Sherlock intended.

 _John, I don't write these things to hurt you, merely to explain. You couldn't have known how I felt about you. I kept it hidden from everyone, even myself. I didn't know until Moriarty forced me onto that ledge and I had to jump. Please, please don't let my words make you regret anything you did. Don't ever regret a moment of your life with Mary. Especially don't regret Rosie who would never have been born had you and Mary never met._

 _I've gone off topic, forgive me._

 _After nearly two years of working at a painstakingly slow pace, I had eliminated all but one of Moriarty's cells. The last one was in Serbia. I should have taken more time, not rushed in, but I wanted to come home so badly, John. Words can't tell you how much I wanted it to be over. That proved to be my undoing. I was captured. They refused to believe that I was working alone. Their methods were crude, but effective. If I had had help... John, forgive me, but I would have told them everything. As it was, all I had to tell them were my deductions and insults. It only made things worse. I escaped once, briefly. When they recaptured me, they redoubled their efforts to get information out of me. I was convinced I would die there, my body tossed on the midden heap. It was only when I heard my brother's voice that I had hope. Yes, it was Mycroft who found me and extracted me. If it helps, his people didn't leave any of them alive._

 _Maybe it's time I told him 'thank you'._

 _John, please, all of this is in the past. It can't hurt us now, not if we don't let it._

 _Love, Sherlock_

The detective folded the letter in half, then he wrote John's name across it. In the past, he had left such offerings in the doctor's chair, but Rosie could reach things left there now. Instead, he left it on the mantle, resting against the skull.

There was no way he would be able to go back to sleep, so he went into the kitchen and started an experiment to occupy his mind.


	29. Chapter 29

John woke to find himself in bed alone. He looked over towards the baby bed and saw Rosie sitting there staring at him. She clapped her hands and said, "Dadada!" He smiled at her and climbed out of bed.

Reaching down into the baby bed, the doctor picked up his little girl. "Let's go find Dad. You don't have to tell him we're calling him that though, not yet. You know how he gets." John kissed her on the top of her head as he carried her into the living room.

Sherlock looked up from his microscope as John and Rosie made their appearance. "Good morning." He tilted his face up in a clear invitation for a kiss.

John obliged him with a smile. "Good morning yourself." He had to make a grab for Rosie with his right hand as she lunged towards the detective.

With a smile for the little girl, Sherlock held out his arms and took her. "Good morning to you as well." He kissed her on the cheek. Looking up at the doctor, Sherlock swallowed hard. "I left you something on the mantle. You might want to make coffee first, before you read it."

John raised an eyebrow. "Is it a love letter?" he teased.

"It's a letter written in love," the detective said. "Not quite the same thing."

"That's... Well, I don't know what to say. It's going to take some getting used to, hearing you say things like that." John chuckled a bit self-consciously as he started the coffee maker. As soon as the coffee was ready, he made himself a cup and one for Sherlock. Next, he ventured to the mantle, where he picked up the letter, then he settled down in his chair to read it.

In the kitchen, the detective busied himself by preparing Rosie's sippy cup and a bowl of baby cereal. He didn't want to be aware of John as he read the letter and the little girl offered the perfect distraction.

John began reading Sherlock's letter, smiling at the endearment contained in the greeting. The smile immediately faded as he read the first line of the letter and discovered its topic. He was touched by his boyfriend's faith in him and by his concern, but that only served to make him more nervous about what the rest of the letter contained. He steeled himself and read on.

The doctor read about the two years of Sherlock's absence, about his loneliness, his hardships and hiding. The thought of his boyfriend suffering through that made his heart ache for him. Sherlock was so much more sensitive than he admitted to being. Those two years had to have been hell on him. He shouldn't have gone through that, not for him.

When John read Sherlock's words about Mary and Rosie, he had to put the letter down. With a shaking hand, he wiped a few stray tears from his eyes. The tears weren't just for Mary, but for Sherlock. Once again, his boyfriend had shown that he wasn't the sociopath he had so often claimed to be. Even now, he was putting John's happiness before his own.

Despite his best efforts, Sherlock couldn't help but notice that the doctor had stopped reading. Even looking at the back of his head, he could tell that John was softly crying. He wanted to go to him, but didn't think he could do it without making things worse. Instead, he continued feeding Rosie.

John picked up the letter and forced himself to continue reading. After he read about Sherlock's captivity and torture and how he had given up hope, tears began to run freely down his face. Knowing that it had only been Mycroft's intervention that had saved the detective only served to reinforce his newfound respect for the older Holmes brother. Even if Sherlock never got around to thanking him, John certainly would. To think he could have lost Sherlock for real and never have known it. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Lurching to his feet, he ran to the bathroom and knelt before the toilet, his stomach heaving.

Sherlock set Rosie on the floor, then stood up on shaky legs. He was more than a bit affected by John's reaction. He made his way to the bathroom. "John..."

"I'm fine," the doctor lied as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I guess I wasn't ready for that," he said with a false smile as he leant back against the cool tiled wall of the bathroom.

Sherlock sat down next to him without saying anything. He grasped John's hand and held it, offering silent comfort. After a minute or so, Rosie came crawling into the bathroom and crawled in between them, settling there. They stayed like that for some time as the little girl entertained herself.


	30. Chapter 30

The idea had been brewing in John's head all day, ever since reading Sherlock's letter. Mrs. Hudson had agreed to watch Rosie readily enough and he had just dropped her off at their landlady's flat. Now he stood just inside the door to B, his eyes glued to the image of his boyfriend laying on the sofa. He walked over and sat down on the edge of said sofa saying, "Sherlock, love. Sit up a minute. We need to talk." It wasn't really talk that he had on his mind, though.

The detective sat up, but he looked fragile and more than a bit reluctant. "What do you want to talk about?"

Slowly John leant forward and kissed his boyfriend, his fingers seeking out the buttons on Sherlock's shirt and unbuttoning them one by one.

The detective pulled back. "John, that's not talking."

With a shrug, the doctor slipped the shirt from Sherlock's shoulders. "Turn around. Let me see." John waited patiently for Sherlock to comply. When his boyfriend let out a sigh and turned his back to him, the doctor let out his own shaky breath. There before him was a map of scars marring beautiful creamy flesh. John leant forward and kissed one of them with a soft tenderness. He felt Sherlock go momentarily stiff and then relax.

"John, what..."

"Hush, love," the doctor whispered, then he kissed each and every scar with a deep reverence. He started at the detective's right shoulder and worked his way across his back, placing a kiss to each scar, then he moved back in the other direction, moving a bit lower. The kisses had started out soft and gentle, but the sounds Sherlock made pushed at John's restraint until, by the end, they had grown heated and sloppy.

Grabbing the Union Jack pillow, the detective shoved it down firmly over his crotch. He didn't understand why John had done what he had, but he knew that sex was strictly off the table, so it had to be something else. The doctor wasn't ready for that yet. Still, Sherlock wanted it so badly. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his body down. "John, please. You have to stop." He should have got up, but he couldn't make himself. "John..."

The doctor stopped and leant against Sherlock, his cheek pressed to the detective's shoulder. "Sorry, I got a bit carried away. I just wanted to show you how I feel about you. I... I love you, you know that. What you did for me, there's no way I can tell you how it makes me feel. I wanted to show you instead." John hugged his boyfriend tightly from behind. "I still want to show you. I'm ready if... if you want that." The doctor trailed off, waiting.

Sherlock turned around to face his boyfriend. "I want that. More than you could possibly know. But not out of pity or guilt." That would taint the experience. He wanted their first time to be free of shadows of the past.

John shook his head. "This isn't about those things. This is about you. Wonderful, spectacular you. I realised today just how much I love you and it's even more than I realised, more than I thought possible. I want this. Now. With you. Please, let's end the waiting and get on with the rest of our lives."

For several long minutes Sherlock studied the doctor's face. He looked into those expressive, dark blue eyes and saw true desire shining from within. There wasn't a trace of pity or guilt, only desire. "Yes," the detective finally breathed, his voice rough with desire. "Yes, yes, yes." He stood, pulling John to his feet and giving him a shove towards the bedroom.

The doctor laughed. "There's no hurry, babe. Mrs. Hudson said she'd be happy to watch Rosie for as long as we ne..." Sherlock surprised him by spinning him around and pressing a kiss to his mouth. "... as we need," John finished when the kiss broke off.

Their landlady got to enjoy Rosie's charming company for several hours. Suspecting the reason, Mrs. Hudson didn't mind one bit.


	31. Chapter 31

John exited the surgery after a long day of work only to spy Mycroft leant up against the building, waiting for him. "What? No black car?" the doctor quipped. He wasn't nearly as annoyed to see the government official as he used to be, not after Sherrinford. He'd seen the real Mycroft Holmes there and found he wasn't as much of a prick as he had always thought.

Mycroft pointed across the street with his umbrella to where one of his black sedans waited. "We can take the car, but seeing as it's a lovely day, I thought you might want to walk." The sun was shining and the sky was clear.

With a nod, John started towards Baker Street. Mycroft fell in beside him and the car drove away. They walked almost a block in silence.

"So, Mycroft," John kept walking, his shoulders back, "What brings you out to the lowly streets?" He cast the government official a smile to take away the sting of his words.

"I understand congratulations are in order," Mycroft said, his face almost blank, but a hint of his pleasure showing through.

John laughed. Some things never changed. "There's surveillance in the flat, I suppose?"

"Of course... but not like you imagine. Mrs. Hudson told me." The government official broke out into a grin. The doctor, barking a laugh, had to admit it looked good on the older man.

John grew serious. "If this is the bit where you offer to break my legs if I hurt your brother, I think you're a bit late. You should have broken them ages ago." He risked a glance to the side, trying to see the expression on Mycroft's face.

"I think there's enough blame to go around for all of us." The government official looked up at the clear, sunny sky. "I hurt him, even whilst trying to protect him. I believe of the two of us, you have ultimately done a better job of being his protector. That's why I'm officially retiring and giving the position to you."

Stopping on the pathway, John looked at Mycroft in disbelief. "That's saying quite a bit." He still couldn't believe how much trust Mycroft put in him, especially after recent events.

People streamed around the pair of them, giving them annoyed looks.

"I believe I said all that matters at Sherrinford. He needs you. You belong together." Mycroft ground the ferrule of his umbrella into the pathway, then he smiled at John. "Might I expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"

The doctor barked a laugh, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "I don't think so." He resumed walking and Mycroft joined him. "I'm sure you know Sherlock's feelings about marriage."

"Yes, I know how he felt about it prior to you and Mary getting married. Not to mention he's disdained it for years." The government official looked sideways at John. "I have reason to believe that has changed, should you find your thoughts turning in that direction."

They walked along in silence after that, Mycroft letting John ponder his words. As 221 appeared ahead of them, the government official took his leave.

"Think about it, John," Mycroft said over his shoulder. He climbed into the black sedan that had appeared out of nowhere and disappeared into the traffic.

John stood there for a long time before he entered 221. He hadn't planned on marrying Sherlock. He hadn't thought his boyfriend would be willing to do such a thing. Now that he had reason to think otherwise, was it something he wanted? The doctor wasn't certain, but he thought he might.


	32. Chapter 32

For three months, John contemplated the idea on marriage before finally deciding that it definitely felt right. He carefully chose a date that wasn't the anniversary of anything to propose and he did it in a completely different manner than he had with Mary.

"Rosie, come here." John squatted down in the living room with his arms out and waited until his daughter tottered over to him. She grinned when she got to him and bounced on unsteady legs. "I need you to do something for me. See dad." Rosie turned and started to totter over to Sherlock who was busy examining something under his microscope. "Wait, Rosie." He gave her a small box that she immediately put in her mouth. John extracted it gently and put it back in her hand. "I need you to take this to Dad. Can you do that?"

"Dad!" Rosie shouted.

"Sh, sh, sh," her father hushed her. Turning her around, he started her in Sherlock's direction. "Go to Dad, he urged."

The little girl tottered over to Sherlock and grabbed onto his trouser leg. "Dad!" She started to climb into his lap despite there not being enough room.

The detective pushed away from the table and picked Rosie up. "Hello, beautiful." He kissed her on the cheek and she hit him aside the head with the blue box. Sherlock took it and frowned. "What's this, then?" Rearranging Rosie so she sat on his lap, he opened the box. What he saw inside didn't make any sense. It was a man's ring, a simple band, and it wasn't John's. Sherlock turned to face his boyfriend, confused. "John?"

The doctor crossed the room and picked up Rosie, placing her on the floor. "Can you deduce what that is?" he asked in a teasing manner.

Looking at it suspiciously, Sherlock said, "It's a ring, but why?" It didn't make sense. Why would there be a man's ring in their flat?

John sat in the detective's lap, stradling his legs. "Will you marry me?" he asked with a grin.

Sherlock went completely still, staring at John unseeing. John had seen this sort of thing before. The doctor laughed and kissed Sherlock, hoping to snap him out of his shock or pull him out of his Mind Palace, whichever.

The detective came out of it, blinking rapidly. "You want me to marry you?" he said with disbelief.

"Yes," John said, laughing and the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Why?" Sherlock seemed genuinely perplexed.

"Because I love you. Because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Because I want the whole world to know how I feel about you." The doctor smiled and kissed the tip of Sherlock's nose. "Well?"

"What about Rosie?" the detective asked. How did she fit into all of this?

John frowned. "What about her?" Rosie would be fine. His face suddenly lit up. "Oh! You should adopt her. That would be perfect."

Sherlock started blinking rapidly again.

"Only if you want too," the doctor added. "It was just a thought."

"Yes." Sherlock said with conviction.

"Yes... to..." John held his breath, waiting. Yes to the marriage? Yes to the adoption?

"To both, you idiot." Sherlock pressed their lips together in a passionate kiss as he slipped his arms around John and hugged him tight.

Rosie, by now quite jealous, demanded attention. "Up! Up! Up!"

The two men broke apart, breathlessly laughing. John leant ovet and picked up his... their little girl and settled her beteeen them. "Rosie, your Daddy and Dad are going to get Married. What do you think about that?"

"Bored!" the little girl said in an imperious tone.

John looked at Sherlock. "I completely blame you for that."


End file.
